


Rising Tide

by masulevin



Series: Self-Indulgence AU [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: After Connor is saved, the Wardens are given rooms in Redcliffe Castle before they head off to look for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Alistair takes the opportunity given to him by the unusual privacy and comfort to take care of himself the way he's always wanted to.





	Rising Tide

**Author's Note:**

> I have some specific ideas about what Alistair likes in bed, including some visions of him being more submissive than dominant and enjoying a little butt action. 
> 
> (whispers) Buttistair.

Redcliffe Castle is quieter than Alistair remembers, all silent halls and nobles who don’t want to fend for themselves after the servants have all fled. Everyone else is asleep, long since retired to their rooms, but Alistair can’t bring himself to fall asleep just yet.

The bed is too soft. That’s probably the problem. It’s the nicest bed he’s been given in… well, ever if he’s being honest with himself, which he tries not to be. It’s too soft, and he’s too anxious avoiding the darkspawn dreams, and he can’t get the memory of Sophie’s hand sliding up his thigh out of his mind.

He paces around the room, puts another log on the fire and stirs it up even though it’s supposed to be banked for the night, sticks his head out into the hallway to see if he can hear anyone or anything.

It’s completely silent, still. Even Aoife is asleep, probably curled up against Sophie’s side. Alistair spends exactly one second pretending he isn’t jealous of the mabari before groaning and leaning his head against the door frame.

This is ridiculous.

He closes the door back and makes sure it’s locked before stripping off his clothes on the way to the bed. This should be nice, enough space and privacy to take care of himself the way he wants without worrying about someone catching him and giving him a lecture.

Just the idea that he can do whatever he wants is enough to make him grin like a child, and he turns to flop on his back across the bed with a soft _oof_. It really is the softest mattress, and he closes his eyes to appreciate it for just a moment.

Before too much time escapes him, though, he sighs slowly and lets his hands start to wander. He has every intention of taking his time, of exploring, and his calloused fingertips trace over the lines of muscles on his chest before finding a nipple. He traces two fingers around it experimentally, then pushes harder, and finally pinches it.

This makes him shiver, so he does it again before he lets his hands start wandering again. He sighs as his fingers dip across his stomach, almost tickling, a little firmer than it had been before he joined the Wardens but not by much. He might be self-conscious about it at another time, but now he’s just focused on how it feels when he brushes through the coarse hair so close to his need without touching it.

He’s taking his time, and he has all night before him to do what he will. And right now that’s scratching at the inside of his thighs with his blunt nails. He shudders again, imagining Sophie doing the same, teasing him now the way she had drunkenly teased him by their campfire.

He shivers again and spreads his legs farther apart to give himself more room to work, bending one knee to plant his foot on the soft blanket. He gives in and cups at his balls with one hand while the other resumes its scratching across his chest, pleasure and pain blooming in equal measure, encouraging each other on his skin.

He moves with more insistence now, squeezing a little tighter, pulling a little harder, his hips shifting in seeking circles without his permission. He clenches his jaw and tries to hold himself still, and a little whine escapes his throat.

He switches where his hands rest, moving the one pulling at his balls up to grasp the base of his cock and the one on his chest down to replace the other. His whole body trembles and he swallows the moan that rises as he pumps his fist over his shaft.

His toes curl against the bedcovers. Sweat beads on his skin as he squirms, trying to hold still but unable to as his pleasure rises. His cock leaks steadily, and he gathers the liquid up to help his hand glide more smoothly over his skin.

He pinches and pulls, strokes and thrusts, each motion making his blood boil hotter and his breath come sharper. If he had this much privacy when he was younger he would never stop doing this.

His hips shift up as he pushes his cock into his fist, and his other hand slips a little, a finger pressing into the sensitive skin behind his balls.

This is what makes his eyes finally open, gazing sightless at the ceiling of his room.

“Oh,” he murmurs, and does it again, more deliberately this time, pressing and sliding the pad of his middle finger over the spot again, and again, and then a little lower, until–

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, and he has to firmly grip the base of his cock to keep from spilling before he’s decided to stop.

His finger keeps moving though, a light circling and exploration of a place he’s never considered before. The sensation is new, different, but it makes stars burst behind his eyelids and more liquid drip from the tip of his cock, now flushed a deep red.

His groans start to come with each breath as his hands start to move in tandem with each other. His hips buck and his back bows, and prayers to the Maker slip from his lips as he wonders if Sophie would be willing to touch him just like this.

He spreads his legs more to make it easier, and once more he squeezes the base of his cock to hold himself in check. His cheeks are flushed, the red reaching down to his bare chest covered in pale silver scars and tufts of auburn hair. Each breath is dragged into and then forced out of his lungs. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, though a single tear slides from one and drips down into his ear as the force of denied release makes him tremble.

This is more than he could have hoped for when he began.

Sophie’s face is never far from his mind, her light blue eyes bright with pleasure dancing in his vision. In his imagination, she loves to touch him like this, loves to give him what he needs to whine and moan and sweat and tremble under her control.

This time when his hands begin to move, he can’t stop it. He can’t stop the rising tide of pleasure, nor does he want to.

It crashes over him with enough force to make his vision go white and his toes curl, though his hand keeps stroking his cock to drag out his orgasm for as long as he can handle it. He doesn’t know what he cries during those blissful moments, but his throat feels dry and raw when he sucks in a calming breath at the end.

His spend has landed across his stomach, reaching as high as his chest, but he can’t bring himself to mind. He rests his hands on his stomach and breathes slowly, counting each breath as it makes his chest rise and fall, until he feels like his legs will support him.

He crosses the room to the basin of cold water and quickly cleans his hands, chest, and stomach. His knees feel loose as he turns and stumbles back to the bed, ripping the blanket back to burrow under it. His hands reach out before he’s decided to, and he pulls one of the bed’s many pillows against his chest. He buries his face in it and sighs heavily.

If only he could work up the courage to hold her like this.


End file.
